The Pugilist
by Victoria Quynn
Summary: Down on their luck, one of the boys considers another option for a soft bed.


The Pugilist

Jed "Kid" Curry gave a wistful look at the hotel. The small town he and his partner had just arrived in seemed grander than most, and a room at this establishment probably cost a pretty penny. Their meager funds would not accommodate it.

Hannibal Heyes shared the same thought. "This seems to be the only place in town to stay. Strange there's no boardinghouse."

Curry sighed. "My back can't take another night on hard ground. I dreamed of a soft bed last night."

Heyes quipped, "We'll just have to find softer ground for tonight, then. Let's get a beer. Maybe the saloon will have some free eats."

"Or a penny ante poker game where you can increase our stake."

Heyes took in his surroundings. "At that rate it'll take two days playing all day to get enough to get a room and meal. Where would we stay in the meantime?"

The partners walked their horses to the nearest watering hole. As they tied the reins to the hitching post, they heard a loud voice coming from behind the saloon. Curiosity getting the better of them, they strode around to see what was going on.

A man stood on a bench in front of a boxing ring. He barked, "Throw your hat in the ring, gents. All comers welcome. Win two hundred fifty dollars if you finish the fight. You don't have to win to collect."

People looked on. There did not seem to be any takers.

"Now, gents, I don't have to tell you – two hundred fifty dollars is more than most of you will see in a year or more. Here's your chance to get it in short order."

Curry mused, "That's a nice payday, Heyes. If only …"

"'If only' being the operative phrase here, meaning don't bother."

The blue eyes flashed. "With that kind of money we could have the best room in that hotel for a month and feast like there's no tomorrow."

"If there is a tomorrow," Heyes quipped. "Seriously, Kid, it's too dangerous."

"Maybe, maybe not. It's a fight. How bad could it be?"

Before he realized what was happening, Hannibal Heyes watched in amazement as Curry tossed his hat into the air. It landed on a corner pole of the ring as a breeze caught it.

"Have you lost your mind?" Heyes was incredulous. "Take that as a sign, Thaddeus. You're not supposed to do this! You have a ghost of a chance at best."

"I can do it." Determined blue eyes met Heyes' skeptical brown ones.

The barker addressed Curry. "You there! Cowboy! Is your hat in the ring or not?"

Kid noted the position of his hat. Striding to the pole, he grabbed it, leaned over the ropes, and placed it in the ring. "It is now."

The barker, a tall, thin fellow who appeared to be ten years older than Curry, extended his hand. "Fergus McGee."

Kid shook. "Thaddeus Jones."

McGee regarded Kid. "A little scrawny, eh? But you think you have what it takes to fight the champ?"

Looking beyond McGee to a muscular specimen about his height, standing stock-still with hands on his hips in the middle of the ring, the ex-outlaw's eyes widened. "Su-sure …" Then, letting out a breath, he confirmed, "That's two hundred fifty dollars just for fightin' him, right?"

McGee raised his voice, so the growing crowd would hear. "That's right, cowboy. Two hundred and fifty big ones for getting in the ring and staying the distance – until the fight's over!"

Bending to pick up his hat, the blond man asked, "When do we fight?"

"Be here by 2:00 p.m., sharp. You're allowed one second for tardiness. You got gloves?"

"Gloves?" Kid raised an eyebrow and showed his gloved hands in an obvious gesture.

McGee rolled his eyes, and chuckles emanated from the crowd. "Not riding gloves, son. Boxing gloves."

Kid turned momentarily to Heyes, who shrugged. Then, he asked McGee, "What do ya need gloves for? Ya fight bare knuckle."

"No bare knuckles here, son," McGee crowed. "The champ fights under Queensberry rules. We'll supply the gloves, don't worry."

"Queensberry rules?" Curry was confused. "What're those."

McGee sighed. "Rules for fighting, son. They're posted over there – read them. You can read, can't you?"

Kid nodded.

"Then, if you're still interested, be here at two o'clock. If not, I'll presume you'll be on your horse riding out of town!"

The crowd laughed.

Kid Curry turned once more to meet the concerned countenance of his partner. Doubt surfaced in his mind for a moment. Shaking it off, he faced McGee. "I'll be here."

~~00oo00~~

Seated at a table in the rear of the saloon, their nursed beers lukewarm, the partners leaned in close, keeping their voices low.

"We should've stayed out on the trail. Then we wouldn't be dealing with this nonsense. You're gonna make a spectacle of yourself!" Heyes rolled his eyes. "And what if somebody recognizes us?"

"Heyes, listen to me. We don't know the sheriff, and we gotta eat – well, I gotta."

Heyes frowned. "There's beans in the saddlebags."

Kid sighed. "Yeah, enough for maybe two more meals. And we're out of flour and coffee. And never mind us, what about the horses?"

"We'll pick up a few supplies and be fine foraging on the trail for a while. Darn sight better than getting your brains bashed in, or worse, your shooting hand broken!" Heyes regarded his partner. "Ya know, Kid, sometimes your common sense flies out the window!"

"I can take him, Heyes. He's not much bigger than me." Curry paused. "I want a hot bath and soft bed so bad I can taste it. You wanted it too."

"I changed my mind. He's your height maybe, but he takes a bigger shirt size than you! He's the champ! Do ya think he got that way by being able to be took by just anybody off the street?!"

Kid gave his partner his best earnest look. "Heyes, you're good about keepin' us fed and the horses watered, but four dollars and twenty-two cents ain't goin' far. This is my chance to keep us goin' for a while."

Heyes sighed. "Kid, I don't like it. You know that."

"Yeah, I know. And I don't either." Curry's face for a moment held a twinge of doubt, which disappeared quickly. "But I don't see anybody throwin' two hundred fifty dollars our way."

"Let's be patient and go out on the trail. Something'll turn up."

"This turned up. It's done. I'm gonna do it!" Kid's adamancy turned to a sheepish grin. "Will ya back me up?"

Heyes rolled his eyes. "Don't I always?"

~~00o00~~

At 1:45, the partners found themselves back at the ring.

McGee worked the crowd. "Come one, come all, ladies and gentlemen! See the Boston Strongboy take on a couple of cowboys! Can they floor the champ? First fight at two p.m."

After his spiel, McGee approached the pair. "Okay, Jones, strip to the waist. Jack over there'll fit your gloves. Good luck!" He walked away at a brisk clip.

Kid smirked. "He's all business."

Heyes eyed his partner. "Because it is a business. That's what they do." He paused. "You can still back out, ya know."

The blond man set his jaw. "No. I'm gonna do this."

Heyes let out a breath. "Okay, let's have your shirts, then."

Before Curry could do more than remove his hat, a man of short stature approached. He carried several sets of padded gloves. "I'm Jack. Over here."

The partners followed him to just outside one part of the ring. Jack continued, "This'll be your corner. Did ya read the rules?"

The two nodded.

"Good." He turned to Heyes. "Then you know the second is allowed in the ring only during breaks. You can water him down and do what you have to do then." Then, to Kid. "Otherwise, you're on your own. Any questions?"

Heyes spoke. "Yeah. The fight's over …"

"When it's over. You read the rules. It's all there." Jack regarded the pair, who glanced at each other. "Okay, now strip and let's get this started. The champ likes to be prompt."

As he watched his opponent in the opposite corner, Kid Curry stripped to the waist and handed his hat and shirts to Heyes. He then held his hands out to Jack, who hesitated.

Confused, Kid looked at the shorter man, then at his partner.

Heyes said, "Umm, Thaddeus … Your gunbelt …"

"Oh. Right." The blond ex-outlaw locked eyes with Heyes, his breathing quickening a bit.

Heyes put a hand on Curry's shoulder. The blond man slowly unbuckled the belt and untied the rawhide from around his thigh. Hesitating a moment, he handed it to Heyes.

"Don't worry, I'll keep it safe."

Kid replied, "I know. Just feel nekkid without it."

Heyes smiled. "I'm happy to give it right back to you."

Curry shook his head. "When I'm done here."

Jack fitted Kid with boxing gloves and laced them up. "Good luck to you, friend. You'll need it."

The partners shared a look. Heyes saw doubt for a brief moment in Curry's eyes, before the more familiar stubborn determination returned.

Both boxers were called to the center of the ring to review the rules with the referee and shake hands. Sent back to his corner, Kid sat on a stool. Heyes gave him one last word of encouragement before exiting through the ropes.

The bell rang.

~~00oo00~~

Hannibal Heyes grimaced and closed his eyes too many times during the next fourteen minutes. For sixty seconds after each three-minute round, he tried his best to staunch the bleeding on the increasing number of cuts on his partner's face and torso. He held a cup to Curry's lips to get water down his throat, lightly slapped his cheeks to get him to focus, and otherwise cheered him on.

He had to smile, though, at his partner's bullheaded resolve. Kid landed almost as many punches as his opponent, giving as good as he got for a while. But, by the third round, with each jab or hook he threw less intense, Curry could barely stand.

At the beginning of the fourth round, both fighters emerged from their corners. Kid seemed renewed, but halfway through the round, he hit the dirt. After a ten count, the referee held up the champ's hand and declared him the winner by knockout.

~~00oo00~~

"Mr. Smith?"

His alias sounding foreign to him in his light doze, Heyes startled at a tap on his arm. The doctor answered Heyes' queries before he could voice them.

"He's bruised and in pain, but you already know that. Nothing is broken as far as I can tell. All the cuts are stitched up and bandaged. The eye looks bad but should be fine. He's groggy now because of the medicine I gave him. He should rest for a few days and take it easy after that, and he'll be good as new in a week or so – unless he gets some fool notion in his head again!" The older man shook his head. "I'll never understand what gets into you young'uns sometimes."

The sleepiness past, Heyes rose. "Can I see him now?"

The doctor nodded down the hall. "You know where he is. Keep an eye on him. I have to make rounds."

Heyes grabbed his partner's belongings, strode to the room, and peeked in. Kid lay on an examining table, covered to the chest by a sheet. He waved weakly to Heyes to enter.

Heyes's breath caught at the sight of Curry's bruised left eye. His voice low, he remarked, "I hope you feel better than you look, but somehow I doubt it."

Kid grimaced as he tried to re-position himself. "Probably the worse for wear." A momentary chuckle became a moan.

"Just take it easy there, partner." Pulling a chair close and sitting down, Heyes reached a hand to Kid's shoulder, then lifted the sheet to survey the damage. "Looks like the doc cleaned you up pretty good. That bath will probably have to wait until the stitches are out. But are you ready for a light meal and that soft bed?"

Curry regarded Heyes with his one good eye. He was weary. "I'll pass on the meal. Got no money for a hotel. Have to pay the livery and supplies …"

Heyes laughed. "And why're you here? In case you forgot, you did fight the champ, you know."

"I know. But I only stayed a few rounds."

Heyes smiled. "That medicine must really be clouding your mind, Kid. You forget already you finished the fight?" He reached into his pocket and pulled out and waved a thick wad of bills. "Don't tell me you forgot about this?"

Kid's good eye widened.

"McGee came by a bit ago and delivered this. Said the champ was hurting a bit after you. He had a harder time of it in his second fight. You gave as good as you got, Kid – for a while, anyway. So, I'll get us a hotel room and get you settled. We'll rest good for the next few days." Heyes paused, grew somber. "It's nice to have, but you didn't have to do it, you know."

The blond man yawned, losing his struggle to stay awake, "I know, Heyes. Like I said … You have to play … and I have to eat. Just did … what I had … to do …"

 _Note: According to Wikipedia, in 1883 and 1884, boxing champ John L. Sullivan, nicknamed "The Boston Strongboy," went on a coast-to-coast tour by train with five other boxers. It was scheduled to comprise 195 performances in 136 different cities and towns over 238 days. To help promote the tour, Sullivan announced that he would box anyone at any time during the tour under the Queensberry Rules for $250. He knocked out eleven men during the tour._


End file.
